The Shadow - The Sledge Hammer Crimes Part 4

Clyde grinned sheepishly. Cardona had shattered the reporter's theory. "The empty office might be a clue," remarked Cardona. "It was leased by a guy named Bursley. Thomas Bursley. He took a year's lease, by telephone; and sent the money in advance, by mail. Moved some junky furniture into the place a month ago, then never occupied it."

"Did the building superintendent meet Bursley?"

"No. n.o.body met him. What's worse, the letter that he sent with the money was typewritten and had no signature. This job was planned in advance, Burke. No question about that. But we'll have a tough job locating any one called Bursley. The arrangement was too slick."

A CALL came from Clayborne's office. It was Weston, summoning Cardona. Joe stooped and went through the shattered wall; Clyde followed. When they joined the police commissioner, they found two other persons. One was Parker Clayborne, a nervous, haggard-faced man. The other was Prentiss Petersham. The lawyer had arrived unexpectedly.

"I just learned about this robbery," stated Petersham to Weston. "I thought that it might be attributed to the same band that rifled the Mayan Museum. That is why I came here."

"We believed that the criminals were the same," nodded Weston. "Inspector Cardona will show you our only clue, Mr. Petersham. It is a broken sledge lying in the empty office beyond the shattered wall."

Cardona conducted Petersham through the opening. Clyde remained to hear what Clayborne had to say.

"The rogues avoided my strong door," a.s.serted Clayborne to Weston. "They would not have dared attack it. The alarm would have sounded."

"The wall of the Mayan Museum was wired with an alarm," remarked Weston. "It gave no signal."

"It must have been faulty equipment," declared Clayborne. "What concern installed it?"

"We do not know," replied the police commissioner. "That, however, is unimportant. We know that a wiring, built into a wall, might prove unreliable after a time."

"I agree," nodded Clayborne. "That is one reason why I did not install wiring in my own wall. But the equipment of my strong door was in order."

"The same was true with the lower doors inside the Mayan Museum," declared Weston. "We have given them a thorough examination. The locks were of the best make."

The commissioner named the type.

"The same as mine," rejoined Clayborne. "But they handle time locks only. Some other concern must have put in the wall wiring at the museum."

The subject dropped. Cardona had returned with Petersham. Weston wanted to talk to Cardona; they went into Clayborne's outer office. Clyde lounged by the window, while Petersham began to chat with Clayborne.

THE jeweler's story was a wail of woe. He summed up the loss that he had received-a total that was only partly covered by burglary insurance. He began to mention the names of wealthy purchasers with whom he had dealt. It was when Clayborne paused, that Petersham inserted a question.

The query was delivered in a low, cautious tone that Clyde did not catch. It was Clayborne's repet.i.tion ofthe question-a trifle less guarded-that enabled the reporter to learn what Petersham had asked.

"Elvin Lettigue?" asked the jeweler. "The millionaire? Yes. I have sold him gems."

A mumble from Petersham. A call for a softer tone from Clayborne. The jeweler's voice became more cautious; yet Clyde caught s.n.a.t.c.hes.

"Several months ago-small purchases-dissatisfied with the necklace-I had almost forgotten -"

Evidently Clayborne's dealings with Lettigue had been intermittent; of a minor nature, and somewhat unsatisfactory. Petersham's voice took up the conversation, but his tone was loud again. The lawyer had changed the subject. He was sympathizing with Clayborne over the latter's loss.

There was a call from the outer office. Cardona was summoning Clayborne. The jeweler departed.

Clyde, still staring from the window, heard Petersham moving about the inner office. Footsteps paused; Clyde sidled a glance toward the lawyer.

Petersham was standing by the shattered wall. With finger tips, he was testing a jagged edge of crumbled masonry. A broken brick gave like powder at his touch. Petersham dug deep until he was stopped by solid brick.

He began to test other spots. One crumbled; the others did not. Clyde watched the lawyer's sharpish profile. He noted a tightening of Petersham's outthrust lower lip. It looked like a smile of satisfaction.

Petersham turned suddenly; but Clyde was quick enough to avoid his notice. Once again, the reporter was staring from the window, as if interested in watching the street. Clyde heard Petersham move about by the wall. Then came an interval of silence.

"BURKE!".

The call was from the outer office. Clyde swung about. It was Cardona who had called him. The acting inspector put a query.

"Where's Mr. Petersham?" Clyde stared, actually puzzled.

"He was here a minute ago," replied the reporter. "I heard him over by the wall."

"Then he must have gone through to the empty office."

Clyde nodded. He realized that Petersham must have decided to look at the other side of the hole.

Cardona crawled through to the empty office; then returned.

"He's not there," grumbled Joe, "and the commissioner wants to see him -" Weston appeared from the outer office and snapped an interruption.

"Mr. Petersham has gone," announced the commissioner. "He went out through the hall. He left word with one of the men on duty. Petersham will be at his office later in the day, if we wish to talk with him."

"There's nothing to ask him about, commissioner."

"Probably not. You can call him from headquarters, if anything new develops."

Weston and Cardona prepared to leave. The acting inspector picked up the broken sledge to carry it to headquarters. Clyde had gained all the story that he could. He left with the others, while Clayborne remained gloomily in his office. Reaching the street, Clyde headed for a telephone. He put in a call to Burbank. He reported all details; Burbank received them, then ordered Clyde to visit the office of Rutledge Mann, an investment broker in the Badger Building.

The order meant that Burbank was going off duty until evening. Mann was another of The Shadow's contact agents who served by day. It also signified that Clyde would find instructions awaiting him.

MANN was in his office when Clyde arrived. Quiet, chubby-faced and methodical, the investment broker heard a repet.i.tion of the details that Clyde had given Burbank. Mann made notes of his own; then, from a desk drawer, he produced a typewritten list.

"These names," stated Mann, "are those of concerns in New York that handle burglary alarms. You will visit all of them, as a representative of the New York Cla.s.sic."

"To question them about installation?" queried Clyde.

"More than that," smiled Mann. "You will find out the name of the concern that wired the wall of the Mayan Museum."

Clyde grinned. He liked the task.

"I'll handle it," he told Mann. He looked at the list. "Only a dozen names. I can finish it in a few hours, if I have luck."

Mann nodded his approval.

Once he had left the investment broker's, Clyde went to the Cla.s.sic and prepared a hurried story that hit the high spots of the robbery at Clayborne's. That done, Clyde dodged a new a.s.signment and gained a clear afternoon.

Clyde had orders from The Shadow. Coupled with Clyde's own report, these formed a double lead.

Clyde Burke was positive that before the day was ended The Shadow would have progressed along the trail.

CHAPTER VI. THE SHADOW'S VISIT.

"MR. PETERSHAM has not returned, sir."

The stenographer gave the information to the tall stranger who had entered the lawyer's office. It was the second time that this visitor had appeared during the afternoon. Once at two o'clock; this time at three.

"I shall wait."

The tall stranger seated himself in a large leather chair. In leisurely fashion, he lighted a cigarette and leaned back to await Petersham's arrival.

There was something commanding about the visitor's appearance, a characteristic that offset his lackadaisical manner. His face was an impressive one-immobile in expression, hawklike in profile.

Closely scrutinized, it bore a resemblance to a mask.

The visitor was The Shadow. He had delegated Clyde Burke to follow one trail: that of The Shadow's own making. The Shadow, himself, had taken up the task of following the lead that had come from Clyde's report.

This involved Prentiss Petersham. The lawyer's actions at Clayborne's were something that needed closerstudy. Petersham had uncovered two facts. One was that Elvin Lettigue had once dealt with Parker Clayborne; the other, that the jeweler's broken wall was powdery about its crumbled edges.

Oddly, Petersham had mentioned neither fact to Weston or Cardona. The lawyer was playing a game that resembled The Shadow's. He was keeping his findings to himself. That was why The Shadow had decided to contact Petersham in person.

Ten minutes drifted. The door of Petersham's suite swung open. In strode Petersham himself, his sharp face preoccupied with a foxlike expression. The lawyer did not observe his silent visitor. He made inquiry of the girl at the outer desk.

"Any telephone calls Miss Logan?"

"None, Mr. Petersham. There is a caller -"

"Not important." Petersham shook his s.h.a.ggy head. "There is no one whom I wish to see. I am going to my inner office. Switch any telephone calls there -"

"This card, Mr. Petersham."

The girl held up a calling card that The Shadow had given her. Immediately, Petersham e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the name that he read: "Lamont Cranston! When -"

"He is here, Mr. Petersham."

The attorney swung about. He saw the seated visitor. He advanced with outstretched hand. The Shadow arose to receive the greeting. Petersham promptly conducted his visitor to the private office.

THERE was reason for Prentiss Petersham to enthuse over a visit from Lamont Cranston. The Shadow had chosen a guise that would make him welcome. For Lamont Cranston, famous globe-trotter, was reputed to be a multimillionaire who took keen interest in contributing rare curios to museums.

Petersham had never before met Lamont Cranston; but he had heard of the millionaire. Even had he met the real Cranston, he would not have suspected an imposture. The Shadow, when he guised himself as Cranston, became the millionaire's double.

"My visit concerns the Mayan Museum," remarked The Shadow, quietly, as soon as he was seated in Petersham's office. "I was sorry to read about the death of Lewis Lemand."

"You knew the curator?" queried Petersham, from behind his desk.

"Only slightly," returned The Shadow. "But I had planned to arrange an expedition to Mexico on Lemand's account."

"Why so?"

"Because he did not receive the treasures from the Luben Expedition."

Petersham started to nod; then paused. His face showed perplexity. "On Lemand's account?" he demanded. "But Lemand was dead before the news came out that the Luben relics had been sent to Chicago."

The Shadow shook his head. "I was in Chicago," he explained. "The news of the Luben shipment was published there a full day before Lemand's death."

Petersham's gaze narrowed. A flicker of a smile showed on the lawyer's pursed lips. His thoughts, however, were completely veiled. It was impossible to tell whether or not he had heard this fact before.

Possibly Petersham was pleased to learn that some one else might testify that the news was public prior to Lemand's death. Or, on the contrary, his smile might have meant that he had gained some unexpected information that he regarded as useful.

"Of course," added The Shadow, slowly, "the rifling of the museum changed my inclinations. I would not care to contribute exhibits to a place that has shown itself so vulnerable to burglary."

Petersham smiled sourly.

"The newspapers state," resumed The Shadow, "that the museum was well protected. Yet the fact stands that thieves entered it -"

"Only through amazing strength," interrupted Petersham. "They malleted their way through a thick, solid wall. They repeated their same process last night, to enter a jeweler's strong room."

"I read of it," nodded The Shadow. "Why did the burglary alarm fail to function?"

"There was none at the jeweler's."

"But at the museum?"

Another sour smile from Petersham.

"Some faulty equipment," decided the attorney. "A freak of chance. Something went bad with the wiring."

"What does the alarm company have to say about it?"

"We do not know the make of the burglary alarm."

THE SHADOW'S thin eyebrows raised quizzically. Petersham made hasty explanation.

"Records were stolen," stated the lawyer. "I had no duplicates. Lemand alone knew who had installed the equipment. But I can tell you again, Mr. Cranston, that these rogues were powerful. They actually smashed down solid chunks of masonry with their sledges."

"It seems incredible!

"I agree. Yet the evidence is undisputed. A broken sledge hammer was found at the jeweler's. I, myself, examined it."

"Odd that the criminals should leave it on the scene."